


An Accounting of Weakness

by vyduan



Category: Alias (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, No Smut, implications of sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:15:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23866621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vyduan/pseuds/vyduan
Summary: "Only you would consider love a weakness, Sark."
Relationships: Sydney Bristow & Julian Sark, Sydney Bristow/Julian Sark
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	An Accounting of Weakness

**Author's Note:**

> Everything up through the end of S2. Veers off into AU after that. Assumes Sark was exchanged to the Covenant for his inheritance while Sydney was still Julia Thorne. Also refers to 3x14 Blowback (albeit in a somewhat changed fashion). All quoted dialogue from Blowback courtesy of Twiz TV.

_scathing: (adjective) Bitterly denunciatory; harshly critical._  
  
**An Accounting of Weakness  
  
**It had been eleven months, two weeks and six days since Sydney Bristow's fiery pyre consumed her body and all her worldly possessions. Five months, three weeks and two days since Julia Thorne obliterated Sydney Bristow and flagrantly borrowed from her memory of Julian Sark. Two months, one week and three days since she witnessed the truth regarding the fickle and shallow love of Michael Vaughn. And approximately seventy-six seconds since she was partnered with the only man who knew her before her alleged death.   
  
She wondered if he would want his persona back.  
  
***  
They circled each other like caged tigers, each trying to sniff out how much the other knew or suspected.   
  
"Ms. Thorne, is it?" he stated more than queried. "You remind me of someone I used to know. Perhaps we've met before?"  
  
"Surely that cliché has been abused enough. I had hoped that the infamous Mr. Sark would choose a more intriguing opening line. Clearly, my hope was misplaced."   
  
He lifted an eyebrow at her accent which was blank, British and stripped of any origin, just like his. Taking in her blond hair, Armani suit and cultivated disdain, he chuckled. "I see we're to be a matched pair. It seems the Covenant has a sense of humor after all."  
  
"I don't see what's so funny, Mr. Sark."  
  
"No, I don't suppose you would, Ms. Thorne. Shame." He sighed and shook his head. "I presume our skills are as kindred as our outward proclivities. Some would consider this partnership to be a culmination of destiny."  
  
"That," she said acidly, "remains to be seen."  
  
Afterward, she fled to the emptiness of her apartment and trembled.  
  
***  
She would catch him staring, dissecting her every movement and vocal inflection. Sometimes, when she accidentally tucked back an errant strand of hair, his clear blue eyes would cloud over and he'd cough, as if in warning. His face would then betray, however short-lived, a look that could only be described as grief.   
  
***  
"Come away with me," he said, as if their lives were not forfeit to the Covenant should they leave.  
  
"Come away with me," he breathed against her ear, the phrase a mantra he mouthed over her skin, marking time across her stomach, her thighs, her breasts.  
  
"Come away with me," he said, voice quiet.   
  
She could tell by his casual tone that he would never ask again.  
  
She woke up in a Hong Kong alley nine days, three hours, fifty minutes and forty-eight seconds later without him.   
  
She did not think of him at all.  
  
***  
He, on the other hand, could not stop. He retraced her last days with excruciating detail, ceasing only when she resurfaced at the CIA.   
  
From afar, he watched her face, curiously alien in its animation after months frozen in cruelty. He seethed as years of yearning manifested, so plain and desperate, each time Agent Vaughn came within her sightline. He watched as she encountered him in the field, scouring her once again for any hidden recognition. As before, he found none.  
  
He watched and mourned a second time for Agent Sydney Bristow. But of course, she had no idea.   
  
***  
"Put the gun down, Agent Bristow."  
  
Keeping an eye on her masked opponent, she whipped her glock towards the sound below. Sark walked Vaughn slowly into view, his weapon aimed at the back of Vaughn's head.  
  
"Not a chance. You drop yours," she countermanded.  
  
"Put the gun down now."   
  
"No, Sydney. Don't!" cried Vaughn.  
  
She wavered between Sark and Vaughn, weighing her options to save her partner and prevent the Covenant from acquiring the plasma charge.  
  
"If you love him, you will put the gun down now." His tone brooked no argument.   
  
She dropped the gun.  
  
Sark watched her glock fall, face twisting. "How unfortunate," he sneered and pulled the trigger.   
  
She vaguely heard her own screams before someone slammed the back of her head and she mercifully blacked out.   
  
***  
"He was _my_ husband, you know. If anyone had the right to shoot him, it was me. ' _If you love him_ ,'" she repeated. "As if her pathetic slavering after my husband didn't make it blatantly obvious. The audacity! _I_ pieced him back together when she was off being Julia, betraying him with the Covenant..."  
  
She stopped and whirled around, her dark brows angry slashes of comprehension against her forehead.   
  
"Is that what I am, then? A facsimile? Or is it about cuckolding the man she loves?"   
  
He remained silent so she forged on, mistaking his reticence for defeat.   
  
"Or perhaps, you merely have a penchant for Michael Vaughn's leavings, being fit only for his crumbs."  
  
In an instant, his hands were tightening around her throat. "Don't flatter yourself, Lauren. She's out of your league. Why don't you go play the grieving widow and I'll attend to our prisoner, hmm?"  
  
He left her gasping against the wall.  
  
***  
"Come now, Agent Bristow. There's no need for such hostility." He smiled; his teeth lined up in a row, neat like a scathing white picket fence casually guarding his prey. "It's not my fault you dropped your weapon in exchange for Agent Vaughn. Lucky for you, I eliminated that particular weakness."  
  
"Only you would consider love a weakness, Sark."  
  
"Just because I wound your belief in the beauty of love does not make it untrue. Try to separate your disgust from empirical fact," Sark replied. "Love is a weakness. An indisputable strategic and tactical weakness. Your SD-6 training, as well as your ample life experience, should have made my statement abundantly clear. Whatever you love, whatever you hold dear, can and will be used against you. After all, you're once again within the Covenant's possession."  
  
"They didn't break me before."  
  
"Surprisingly, the Covenant is capable of learning. This time, I fear, they may succeed." He sighed, shaking his head at her. "Pity it was love that brought you so low."  
  
He paused and considered his captive for what seemed an interminable amount of time. Then, murmuring to himself, he continued. "And yet, we still love who we love."   
  
He opened the door and let her go.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was first inspired by the song, After Tonight by Justin Nozuka. The mood was further inspired by a line from Gargoyles episode 2x7, Eye of the Beholder: "Only you would consider love a weakness." (From Goliath to Xanatos.)


End file.
